[b]Minerva Fairchild[/b] -- [i]The Lion's Fang[/i]

The day began early for her, it always had.

Silken lavender sheets stretched and snaked across a plush mattress as her fingertips tugged wearily at them, curling about her nightgown laden form. Thin rays of sunlight snuck through cracks in her curtains, directly beaming onto her gaze, and they finally caused a pair of crystalline azure eyes to open. The day had begun, and so must she. Rising out of bed and wrapping the silk tightly around her form in the vain attempt to keep warm, Minerva seemed to drift across the ornately carpeted floor of her quarters, through the still dust that lingered in the air she strode, disturbing their stained glass beauty with her shadows. 

A door swung open to a simple, plain shower, and the poorly oiled squeak of faucet handles declared the spray of a hot shower, and a humid, thick mist filled the room. Nearly fifteen minutes later she emerged through the dissipating cloud enraveled by a white towel, which was tossed onto a drying rack delicately before she strode across thebroom to find her dresser. Her usual regaila was chosen then, one that she was so infamous for as a long white coat stretched over her shoulders. A thick wide belt settled across her waist after crimson pants had drawn up the curves of her legs. Upon them, resting in their sheaths were a duet of longswords, which formed a neatly shaped 'X' just above the small of her back. 

Once her eyepatch settled in place, her boots were put on and the gauntlets shortly therafter. Her hands ran through the luxurious lengths of her chestnut hair, and at long last she was ready for the day ahead. Wondering if there was a dispatch for her to go on finally, the Fang headed for the commons. The place where those with her occupation tended to congregate. She kept walking then, passing the commons without hesitation as she saw no postings up quite yet. While such did cause a sigh of disappointment, she knew all too well that it was still early in the day, the rest of the world was still waking up. 

So early in fact that breakfast hadn't been served quite yet. Which meant only one thing: it was time for her to practice. 

Out the front door and alomg the grounds she strolled through the gardens until she found her prefeered place. It was quiet, the air was sweet with the scent of flowers, and reaching to her side, Minerva smoothly drew out Durendal. The blade seemed to sing as it was drawn out, resonating with a hum that bespoke of the Durendal's craftsmanship and beauty alike as it shone brilliantly in the sunlight akin to a star. Diamond shaped rubies inlaid with the runes the famously priceless Fairchild Weapons were known for glistened as if ablaze, and Minerva slowly rose the hilt so that one open hand stretched in front of her. 

The hilt itself would rise and rest against her cheek as her stance widened, and the Knight shortly thrust the blade forward. It was a sharp, precise movement. Putting on display the extraordinary prowess she possessed as the nearby flowers whisked away from the blade as if the movement was so powerful, it had created wind behind it. A series of cuts and slices, mock parries and ripostes , each movement being just as graceful yet as powerful and controlled as the first. In the end however, the blade was sheathed and once it clicked neatly into where it belonged, she remained standing silently.

Statuesque even, as the breeze seemed to pass through her. Waiting for a few more peaceful moments to pass before heading back in and to the chaos of a mess hall.